


Preparing For Prom

by sunkelles



Series: Femslash February 2015 [16]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Fluff, Formalwear, I dunno I think it's cute, Kyra is great, Margaery can't sing, Prom, Sansa "steals" Robb's date, She and Robb bond over baseball, look at these cuties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:24:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3395222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaery goes to prom with Robb Stark, but finds herself much more interested in his sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preparing For Prom

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I was talking to my parents about how their proms went and I decided that I wanted to write Margaery/Sansa prom themed fic. Here you go.

Margaery takes another sip of her coke as she asks Kyra which activities she’s involved in. 

“I play volleyball, and softball,” she says. 

“You play softball?” Margaery’s date asks, and Kyra nods. 

“Do you follow the MLB?” he asks. 

“Of course,” she says, “I’m a huge Yankees fan.” Margaery tunes out as the two start an in-depth conversation about professional baseball. 

Margaery barely knows Robb Stark. She only agreed to go to prom with him because as a sophomore, she was only able to attend prom if a junior or senior asked her. 

She doesn’t know any of the people in her prom group well. She’s good at casual conversation, so it doesn’t seem awkward, but it is. By the Seven it is. 

Ygritte is a major punk, and also a major pothead, which is just about the opposite of Margaery’s own preppy crowd. She’s more like Margaery’s friends from theater, and since she isn’t a theater kid, Margaery doesn’t have much in common with her. 

Robb and Kyra are still discussing how their respective baseball seasons are going, while Theon interjects about how hot that is (Margaery isn’t sure which person he was referring to, to be honest) 

By this point in the evening, Ygritte has dragged Jon somewhere to, presumably, at least make out. Margaery quietly excuses herself, ascending the stairs for some peace and quiet. 

 

She steps into the bathroom and leans against the fading, pink counter top. Margaery loves social events, but there's only so much talk about baseball that she can handle. A gorgeous girl pokes her head in. 

"Oh," she says, blushing, "I'm so sorry!! I didn't think that anyone would come up here tonight." 

"No!" Margaery exclaims, "it's totally alright!" 

"I didn't know that there was anyone else here," Margaery says, and she pauses for a moment. 

She asks, "Where's the rest of your family, anyway?" Margaery's parents vacate the premise whenever Loras throws one of the roaring parties he's so fond of, but she didn't think that the Starks really seemed that type.

“Everyone else went to my grandpa’s house,” Sansa says, “But they don’t have wifi.” She says with a shy smile. Sansa Stark is already the most interesting person that she’s talked to tonight, and it’s not just because she’s a pretty girl. Alright, that might be part of it. 

“Why didn’t you come down?” Marg asks. 

“To hang out with my brothers and _Theon_ all night?” Sansa asks incredulously, “I think I’ll pass.” 

She pauses a moment. 

“If I’d have known you were so nice, though, I might have reconsidered.” The words make Margaery’s heart flutter, and she knows that she’s fucked because she can’t even comprehend how much better the auburn hair and blue eyes look on Sansa than her brother. 

"Oh gosh," Sansa says, looking to her heels, "do you want to sit down?" A few moments later, they're sitting side by side at the top of the hard wood staircase, which is frankly painful in her jeweled dress, but she doesn't tell Sansa that. 

“I like your dress,” Sansa says. Margaery glances down at her long, jeweled gown that is currently causing her backside excruciating pain. 

“You look like a majestic mermaid,” Sansa says, with a little blush, and Margaery hopes that it means what she thinks it means. She’s also abut confused. The dress she’s wearing is long and form-fitted, with a slit at the end. It isn’t a mermaid style.

“It’s just the green and aquamarine jewels,” Sansa says, “it looks like a mermaid’s tail.” 

“Is it a good look?” Margaery asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well,” Sansa says, cheeks turning even redder than before, “yeah.” Margaery’s hair cascades to the side of her head in a waterfall braid, and falls into a bush of artificial curls.   
There’s a semi-awkward pause where Margaery thinks of what she should say. Then, she remembers the only thing that she knows about Sansa: she’s a fantastic singer. Her friends from freshman choir all think that it’s unfair that such a pretty girl would get such a pretty voice as well. 

“Lannister is thinking of putting on a musical this next fall,” Margaery hints, “and we need more musical talent if we’re going to do one.” Gods know they do.   
If they end up doing one, Margaery will end up stage managing because she has what might be the worst singing voice in the Crownlands. She once made her younger cousin wake up and cry because she was trying to sing her a lullaby. 

Sansa blushes. 

“I’m really not that good,” she says, but every person that Marg has ever heard talking about it said Sansa was one of the best they’ve ever heard.

 

They talk for what seems like forever, about books and activities, and Margaery doesn’t want it to end. 

She did, however, spend a large sum of money on her dress and would like to be able to show it off. 

She glances at her phone and notices that the dance has almost started. 

“I’d better go downstairs,” she says sadly. Sansa scrambles into a bedroom and arrives with a pad and paper. She scribbles something down and gives it to Margaery. 

“Text me sometime,” she says shyly. 

“I will,” Margaery promises her, and she descends the stairs, thinking less about the dance than about seeing Sansa again.


End file.
